This article is a review of SUMMER IN FEBRUARY.

“Why can’t there be a cable to Nigeria?” Florence Carter-Wood “There will some day,” Gilbert Evans Just a sample of the excruciating dialogue, which also include exclamations like, “I’m not your gypsy!” If it weren’t for the three brief moments of gratuitous female nudity, SUMMER IN FEBRUARY would not be out of place as weekday afternoon schedule-filler on the goggle box. Reminds me of Julian Fellowes’ hackneyed and disappointing directorial debut, SEPARATE LIES. Both share dated concerns and overblown melodrama, delivered by thesps who have proven themselves in other projects.

“I don’t want a cad living on my land. He’s not a cad is he?” Based on a true story, so say the titles. It’s 1913 and Florence Carter-Wood (Emily Browning – SLEEPING BEAUTY; SUCKER PUNCH) moves out of her overbearing father’s pile, to join her brother at an artists’ commune in Cornwall, England. It is meant to be a place of liberation and frank discussion, amid conservatism and narrow-mindedness. Florence, down for some respite after a broken romance, and for some painting classes, she interrupts, one rain-soaked night, self-obsessed painter A.J. Munnings (Dominic Cooper – MAMMA MIA! and CAPTAIN AMERICA) in the first one of his interminable poetry recitations. Not sure if his ability to memorise is meant to make the audience, on the screen and in the cinema, swoon? Cooper gets across Munnings’ insecurities, but it’s a thankless roll, mostly turning the dial on the character setting to grating, and just varying the forcefulness. The material and direction just aren’t present. There is little spark between the players; it’s as if they are acting in a vacuum, or against a green screen, waiting for the special effects team to sew the conversations together. Being the new broom sweeping through the excess, egotism and petty jealousies, Florence becomes the focus of attention for the small community. And the centre of an eventual love-triangle. Two suitors, who happen to be dear friends, lock horns for her affections: Munnings and army office Gilbert Evans (Dan Stevens – DOWNTON ABBEY). Even though Gilbert is all gentle dash and quiet dignity, Florence goes for the brash and famous and meant-to-be genius of A.J. – that genius is not on display, nor is it expounded by the filmmakers as to why they believe he is. Contrast the sequences, containing more pathos in their brief runtime than the SUMMER IN FEBRUARY entirety, of a similar creative refuge in Warren Beatty’s masterpiece, REDS, figuring Eugene O’Neill (Jack Nicholson), Louise Bryant (Diane Keaton) and John Reed (Beatty). On the eve of the First World War, as well as the first female painter to be accepted to the Royal Academy, neither of these momentous events are woven into the fabric of the piece. We’re not in LA RÈGLE DU JEU or THE WHITE RIBBON territory. A turgid and artless film, incongruously about boldness and artistry.